


how the story unfolds

by piggy09



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 03:53:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11349321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: “I just got cured, Mud,” Cosima says, without looking in Mud’s direction. “Like – thecure. I’ve been working on this for – god, it feels like years, I – that’sallI’ve been doing, and now it’s…” she gestures in the vague direction of her stomach.





	how the story unfolds

“Hey,” says Cosima, the word stilted and stretched out: _hhhey_. Mud blinks herself back to alertness, focuses her eyes on Cosima in the dark. Cosima is standing over Mud’s chair, bundled in her coat, awkwardly hunched.

“You aren’t leaving your yurt again, are you?” Mud says. “Because this time I’m _really_ gonna get in trouble, Cosima.” She drums her fingers on the cover of her book, hopes that’s enough to convince Cosima. Probably it isn’t! Cosima doesn’t really seem to care about anything in Revival except herself, and maybe her friend, only Delphine is gone, so now it’s just Cosima.

“Nope,” Cosima says. She hovers over Mud for a little while longer, the air empty except for the distant sounds of crickets and the things that move in the woods. Cosima blinks at the silence for a bit, and then lowers herself onto the ground. From this angle Mud can see the rows of her dreadlocks on top of her head. They’re precise, rows of neat geometry.

“I just got cured, Mud,” Cosima says, without looking in Mud’s direction. “Like – the _cure_. I’ve been working on this for – god, it feels like years, I – that’s _all_ I’ve been doing, and now it’s…” she gestures in the vague direction of her stomach.

Mud leans out of her chair to look at Cosima, who doesn’t look any different. “That’s good, right?” she says. “You’re gonna get better. That’s really the only thing anyone on this island wants, Cosima. The chance to get better.”

“Yeah,” Cosima says. “I know.” Her hand is pressed to her stomach protectively. “Mud?” she says. “I really want to go home.”

“I know,” Mud says. She makes a decision, slides out of her chair and sits on the ground next to Cosima. Cosima makes a confused wrinkle of a face, looks at Mud’s chair, looks back at Mud. But if Cosima thinks Mud’s namesake is gonna drive her away, she obviously doesn’t know Mud at all.

…okay, she kind of _doesn’t_ know Mud at all! But that’s not the point.

“You get used to it!” Mud says. “Almost everybody on this island was where you were once, Cosima. I know it’s weird. But on Revival we’re one big family, and it’ll feel like home soon! You’ll see.” She gambles and bumps her shoulder against Cosima’s a little bit.

“I just had to say goodbye to one of my sisters,” Cosima says, voice cracking. “And then another one – or, like – shit, I don’t know. Rachel. Whatever. She put a needle in me and then she just sort of – patted my arm, and left. And Delphine is gone. And I—” she hunches her shoulders forward, leans into herself in the dark. Mud rubs her arm but doesn’t get a response.

“Like I said,” Mud says. “You’ll find a family here, Cosima. Even if it isn’t the one you came here for. Things have a funny way of working out, here in Revival. Maybe not the way you expect them to! But they work out.”

“Hope so,” Cosima says in that ancient cracking voice.

“And you’re gonna get better!”

“Hope so,” Cosima says again. She is point-blank refusing to be cheered up. Mud makes a face at her, which she can’t see because she’s too busy staring at the dirt. Somewhere in the distance a helicopter leaves; Mud listens to the sound of its rotors whirring, absentmindedly makes a wish on it the way she learned to do when she was a kid. She makes the same wish she’s been making for years: for all of Revival, to keep it happy and blooming. To let the sun shine. To let people get better, the way Cosima is going to get better.

“I’m sure it’ll all look better in the morning,” Mud offers, and she realizes by the breath Cosima sucks in that Cosima is almost crying. Mud scoots over, throws her arms around Cosima. It’s an awkward angle; she’s sitting next to Cosima, so she’s hugging her perpendicular to the way you usually get hugged. But it’s better, probably, than Cosima having to be alone.

Cosima seems to think so – she sniffles some more and then leans her head to the side, so it bumps against Mud’s face. “God, I’m selfish,” she says. “Everyone on this island just wants to get better and I’m sitting here crying even though I’m—”

Yes! Exactly. But Mud doesn’t say that, because she isn’t the worst.

“It’s okay, Cosima,” she says instead. “This is new and scary and you must feel really alone. But you’re not alone! We’re all here with you. We’re all rooting for you to get better. Trust me, okay?”

“That’s a tall order,” Cosima mutters.

That sort of hurts, so Mud doesn’t answer; she just keeps hugging Cosima, keeps holding on. Cosima after a moment realizes that maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say, so she sighs and says: “Sorry. Didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“It’s fine,” Mud says. “It’s okay if you want to take it out on me! I’m right here.”

“Jesus, Mud,” Cosima says, and she pivots a little to the side so the hug fixes itself. She hugs Mud back. It’s been kind of a while since Mud got hugged, so she closes her eyes and feels it – the warm squash of Cosima’s jacket against her jacket, the smell of rubbing alcohol that must have been used to clean off Cosima’s skin for the needle. She rubs Cosima’s back a little bit. The dirt and mud and leaves shift under her as she adjusts her position to make her bones stop hurting.

Cosima keeps sniffling into Mud’s coat, and her hands sort of clench into the fabric over Mud’s back. Poor Cosima. She must be so lonely. Mud keeps rubbing Cosima’s back, and then switches to briskly patting it. “You’re okay,” she says. “You’re okay.”

“Yeah?” Cosima says.

“Yeah!” Mud says. “I told you, things are gonna work out. You’ve had a _super_ long day, and you’re confused, and you’re exhausted, and you just got injected with a _needle_ , and so of course you’re freaked out right now! But you’ll get some sleep and you’ll wake up and then you’ll feel better about all this, promise.”

“I don’t think you can promise that,” Cosima says, but her voice wavers, and she’ll believe in it if she gives herself the chance to. Mud can tell. She pats Cosima’s back a bit more and then breaks the hug, leans back.

“Come on!” she says. “The mess hall is open pretty late, we can get you some tea.”

“You have tea out here?”

“It’s made from pine needles,” Mud says, and Cosima makes a face that would be funny under any other circumstances but, with the dried tear tracks on her face, is just sort of sad.

“Have you ever had, like, actual tea?” Cosima says. Mud stands up, feels soil drying on her jeans and decides not to worry about it. She holds out her hands and waggles her fingers as an offer to pull Cosima up.

“Come on, Cosima,” she says. “The sooner we go there the sooner we can come back, right?”

“Right,” Cosima says faintly, and she reaches up and takes Mud’s hands. It takes a bit of effort but Mud pulls Cosima to her feet; she could let go of Cosima’s hands, but she decides not to. It’s a nice night to be holding someone’s hands. The stars are bright, as bright as they always are. Mud’s jeans are drying stiff and caked with dirt. Cosima’s hands are warm. Cosima is going to get better. A good night, all in all, a helicopter wish of a night.

“All those stars,” Cosima says, like she has finally gained the power to read Mud’s mind. Mud sends her love and warmth and hope and she also apologizes for all the sort of mean thoughts she had earlier. Just in case Cosima can hear it.

“Yeah,” she says. “Must be weird to be somewhere you can see ‘em, huh.”

“Trust me,” Cosima says, “that’s not the weirdest part,” but she doesn’t look away from the sky. The starlight reflects off her glasses, makes her eyes into mirrors. Mud is suddenly deeply struck by how much she wants Cosima to be fine.

She tugs Cosima towards the warm light of the mess hall in the distance, leading Cosima by her warm gloved hands. Cosima follows, slowly, tilting her head down from the sky to look back at Mud again. She squeezes Mud’s hands once and lets herself be tugged.

“It’ll warm you up,” Mud says, and mostly means the tea. She smiles at Cosima, big and bright as starlight; after a second, Cosima smiles back.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry for naming this song after pop sensation "Airplanes" by B.O.B. and Hayley Williams. Except I'm not! I'm not sorry.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please kudos + comment if you enjoyed! :)


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